


You're Doing it Wrong

by ShinSolo



Category: HIM (Band), Tokio Hotel
Genre: M/M, Obsession, Stalking, bad hair, light non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinSolo/pseuds/ShinSolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whole thing had started out as a joke, a drunken moment, and nothing more. No one had expected Linde to become completely and utterly obsessed with Tom Kaulitz, and definitely no one had expected him to carry his obsession so far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Doing it Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> **Dedicated To:** Adrienne (The Sirius to my Remus, as well as the Bill to my Tom!)
> 
>  **Prompt:** Pair a member of TH with someone who would qualify as 'Other Celebrity' -- someone not of the band’s universe, but not OC, either.

The whole thing had started out as a joke, a drunken moment, and nothing more. No one intended any part of it to linger in Linde’s mind, repeating over and over like the images of a bad plane crash on the evening news. No one had meant for Linde to become obsessed to the point in which he couldn’t help but rub his knuckles against the soles of his shoes and his palms against the thighs of his jeans, every time he saw anything even vaguely related. A man he met at Kitarapaja’s with a similar sounding surname caused Linde to narrow his eyes and leave the guitar store without even buying the strings he so desperately needed for Kylla. The German gummy bears Mige loved to eat during band rehearsal pissed him off for no apparent reason. And--much to Ville’s disappointment--the mere mention of adding an additional tour date in Berlin resulted in Linde pulling at one of his dreads so hard he actually broke the little glass bead woven into it before dropping his guitar to the ground and leaving the studio, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoing loudly enough through his condenser microphone to cause feedback to screech back up through Ville’s headphones. No, no one had even expected Linde to remember the conversation at all come morning, yet remember it he had.

 

“That douche on the telly,” Ville had said, his eyeliner smeared and pale skin flushed red. In less than two hours, Linde had watched him and Bam finish off nearly and entire fifth of vodka each. Mige--while drinking a combination of whiskey and beer instead of straight vodka--wasn’t too far behind the other two. Linde was, unfortunately, the most sober person in the room by far, mostly because he’d been too lazy to get up and get another beer after he’d finished his last one over twenty minutes ago. However, something about the tone of voice Ville was using, suddenly made him wish he’d been downing vodka shots all along. He knew before Ville even continued that he was probably too sober to properly deal with whatever was about to issue forth from his bandmate’s lips. “He’s doing it completely wrong, Lily. Completely wrong…”

 

Linde raised an eyebrow and glanced at the television in an attempt to figure out what some bad pop song in a language he didn’t even understand could possibly have to do with him. At first glance, not much at all. And if only Ville’s train of thought had ended there, they could have all been spared.

 

“Just look at him!”--Ville motioned wildly toward the video screen.--“His dreads look like shite, his guitar skills are practically non-existent. I mean, he’s like a bad clone. I mean, a really bad clone, and making you look bad. Even I can do better than that. Hell, even Bam could do better than…”

 

“He’s not even playing an SG!” Mige added, cutting Ville off and faking disgust. Linde frowned, still not quite comprehending. He didn’t even see anyone in the band with dreads, just a kid with really bad hair and too much hairspray. “But at least it’s still a Gibson.”

 

Linde sighed and pushed himself up into a sitting position on the couch, half wondering if they weren’t just indirectly making fun of him. It wouldn’t be a first time, and worst things had happened at his expense when Ville and Bam came together over one vodka shot too many.

 

The television now showed the same kid from before, the one whose hair Linde thought resembled a cartoon character that had just been electrocuted, in what appeared to be a train car, but Linde couldn’t be for sure. He hadn’t exactly been paying attention to the whole thing like Ville and the others had been. He had never seen the kid board a train and the green screen work was pretty pathetic. It would have been better to have just had the kid on a real train, although Linde assumed that doing so would have presented its own set of problems--like how to get a camera man to keep up with a moving train’s window in order to film the kid singing out of it. Linde was pretty sure he was over thinking the entire situation, blamed it on the lack of alcohol in his system. Then the video scene switched to a performance scene inside the train, and Linde saw what had drawn Ville and Mige’s attention--the band’s guitarist.

 

The first thing Linde noticed about him was his guitar. Mige had been right, the kid was playing a Gibson, but not an SG. Linde didn’t really see the point in pointing such a thing out though, there wasn’t too many people that actually still played SG--especially not people as young as the kid on the television looked--and the Les Paul was more popular two to one. The next thing Linde noticed, well he’d actually noticed it first but had chose to ignore it, was that the kid’s playing wasn’t nearly as good as his own, but then again pop music didn’t really require complicated guitar rifts. And despite what Ville had said, the kid was still better than Bam. Bam really was awful.

 

Linde didn’t realize the kid had blond dreads--sort of like his own, because they were blond dreads, no other similarities at all--until he had been watching the music video a bit longer. He frowned when he saw them, and despite hating to agree with Ville, they really did look like shit. A hand protectively wrapped around a few of his own, as if to reassure himself that his really didn’t look as bad as the kid’s, to reassure himself that his were still longer--way longer--and that his were healthy, not something he’d ever shame by hiding under a hat that appeared too big for his head. He was so absorbed in the television, not wanting to miss the ending of the music video when the band’s name would be revealed, that he didn’t even notice Ville had stopped talking and was staring at him, that everyone in the room was staring at him.

 

He dropped his hold on his hair, turned the television off, and threw the remote control back onto the coffee table a little too hard.

 

“Just some stupid kids,” he told them, and suddenly he didn’t feel so much like partying anymore. Instead, he’d stolen the whiskey bottle from Mige’s hands and locked himself in his own hotel room for the rest of the night.

 

That had been a little over three months ago, and if only the feedback incident in the studio had been the worst of Linde’s outbursts he’d have been doing good. If it had ended there, Ville might not have had to get involved. And if Ville hadn’t gotten the bright idea to reassociate himself with the situation, Linde definitely would not have gotten the idea to do what he eventually did. In the end, it might have been both of their faults. There was no denying that Ville had in fact been the one to plant the seeds; however, it was Linde who acted upon them, who let himself become obsessed. Ville never forced him to do anything. Hell, Ville hadn’t been any more sober when he suggested how Linde could take care of his issue, than he had been the night he’d first created the issue for Linde in the first place.

 

“It’s those damn German boy band kids getting to you, isn’t it?” Ville had asked as he leaned closer to Linde, the lit cigarette dangling between his lips a little too close to the side of Linde’s head for his comfort. For a moment Linde considered denying it, but then again this was Ville he was talking to. Had it been anyone else, Linde could have easily lied his way out of the situation; but, Ville had never been just anyone else. “I’ve heard you playing one of those damn songs on your acoustic. Seen how pissed off you get when anyone even fucking mentions them. Now tell me, what is it, Liza?”

 

“It’s…” Linde began before just admitting defeat and nodding. Throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the bar wouldn‘t get him anything besides a lecture from a hung-over Ville come morning. “It’s not like, all of them…”

 

Ville leaned even closer, waiting on Linde to finish his sentence. Linde turned his head and pulled the cigarette out from between Ville’s lips right before its cherry would have brushed against his cheek. He already wished he he’d kept his mouth shut and he hadn’t even admitted to anything yet.

 

“I just makes me sick, okay?” He said, trying again to explain without explaining. “Like how they’re music sucks, yet they’re still selling more albums than us.”

 

“They are not selling more albums than us,” Ville said with a frown, his words slightly slurred, his breath hot against Linde’s face.

 

“In Germany they are…” Linde muttered, looking away. It was a shitty response and Ville laughed, turning Linde’s face back toward him and forcing him to look at him. Linde pushed his fingers away from his face. “This is so stupid…”

 

“Yeah, so? You started it,” Ville retorted, and it was Linde’s turn to laugh. Ville lit a new cigarette, even though Linde still held his original one between his fingers. “You know what I do when someone gets me down like this?”

 

Linde shook his head, curious about what his answer was going to be even though he knew Ville had no idea what his real problem even was. For all he knew, Ville probably assumed Linde was merely obsessed. And in a way, maybe he was, but to Linde it felt much deeper than mere obsession. Obsession should be something happy--like a hobby. His daughter’s love of the Transformers’ movies was an obsession. She knew most of the lines and was happier when it was on the television. Bam Margera’s unconditional love for Ville was obsession. No, Linde thought, obsession shouldn’t make anyone grit their teeth so hard bruises actually formed along their jaw line. Linde was definitely not obsessed with Tokio Hotel--or more specifically, the guitarist of Tokio Hotel. He hadn’t sought out their albums, downloaded their music videos, even traveled three hours one way to catch the end of one of their concerts in fucking Norway because he was obsessed with them. He’d only been trying to understand why they could suck so horribly yet be so popular--at least that’s what he kept telling himself.

 

“I fuck ‘em,” the corners of Ville’s mouth turned up in an almost sadistic smirk as the words left his lips. He leaned in even further, closer toward Linde and farther away from the rest of the bar’s occupants. “I just fuck ‘em.”

 

His words sent a cold shiver down Linde’s spine.

 

“Are you suggesting I… That I…” Linde swallowed, took a long drag off of Ville’s cigarette. Ville just grinned back at him.

 

Of course Ville hadn’t meant it, he hadn’t even know who or what Linde was so concerned about. How was he to know that Linde was--whether he admitted it or not--completely obsessed with Tom Kaulitz? Secretly infuriated by the fact that he was--in his mind--giving blond dreads a bad name to the rest of the world and believed that Tom’s guitar playing and oversized clothes were making people look at Linde with a frown. To Linde, it was people like Tom who made people like himself look bad. Ville hadn’t actually meant that Linde should actually fuck Tom Kaulitz, but then again--seeds.

 

As insane as the idea seemed, the longer it churned around inside Linde’s head the more plausible it became. He knew Ville had been joking--for the most part at least. Linde was pretty sure that Ville had fucked Bam on numerous occasions for the mere purpose of having leverage over him, but surely that had not been what Ville was referring to that night at the bar. That wasn’t even a topic Ville was willing to speak cunningly of sober, and Linde highly doubted a drunken Ville could have pulled off dropping such hints as flawlessly as that circumstance would have called for. Even so, the torment Linde endured at the hands of Tom Kaulitz began to take a totally different stance. No longer did Linde just crave an understanding of how he managed to pull off what he did, no longer did Linde simply want to yell at him over his clothing choices, his mismanaged dreads. No, now Linde found himself wanting to make his dominance over Tom known to the boy. He wanted to stalk him like a Lion stalks its prey. And as crude as it might sound, he wanted to mount him like the alpha male of any animal species would mount those beneath him, using sex to prove he was the dominate party, the one in charge, no matter what.

 

As much as it pained and disturbed him to think about, Linde knew he wouldn’t be able to get the younger man off his mind and regain his sanity unless he actually followed Ville’s advice, unless he actually fucked him.

 

It was for that reason that Linde found himself in Hannover, Germany, attending his second Tokio Hotel concert in less than two months. At a little over six foot four inches, Linde knew he had to look pretty awkward making his way through a mosh pit mainly composed of fifteen-year-old girls. They pushed against him from all sides, their arms bare and makeup smudged. In a way, they reminded him of the girls that waited outside the venues and fought for their place along the front bar at his own shows, but only slightly. It was obvious from the looks he was getting that none of these girls knew his name.

 

A elbow shoved him sideways. A high-healed foot stomped down hard on the toe of his boot. A pair of hands grabbed hold of his hair, tugging not quite hard enough to reach his scalp, but still hard enough to piss him off. Linde was shy and soft spoken by nature, but right now he wanted nothing more than to start screaming at the people surrounding him. He should have taken the venue up on their offer and just gone backstage, watched the show from the sidelines, but he’d been stubborn, wanted to get as close to Tom as he could even if it meant braving the pit and dealing with the swarms of underaged girls. Briefly he wondered at what point in his life he’d allowed himself to get so off track that an hour standing in front of Tom Kaulitz was worth more to him than his sanity. Maybe Linde was simply trying to prove himself wrong, hoping he’d see something amazing from the guitarist, something that really would make Tom appear the better of the two. At least that way he wouldn’t have to go through with what he planed to do, he’d be able to admit defeat and walk off quietly with his dignity still intact.

 

Linde remained in the crowd--his eyes hardly ever leaving Tom’s fingers as they moved along his fret board--until the band left the stage before the last encore. It was then that he began making his way out of the crowd and headed toward the backstage area of TUI Arena. HIM had played at this venue not even a six months ago, and even if he’d never set foot in it before Linde figured he’d been in enough arenas and venues in his life to know his way around the backstage without expending too much effort. The parking garage for the tour busses and equipment trucks connected to the lowest level, a downhill incline cut off from the rest of the outside world by a large chain-length gate. It was dark, secluded, vast enough to cause any scream to be echoed. To Linde, it was the perfect location for what he’d come here to do. There was just enough secrecy to avoid unwanted attention, open enough to prove once and for all that he meant it, that he didn’t really care who saw and who didn’t. Security hardly paid him any attention at all as he made his way to the garage, no one even bothered to stop or question him. And not even fifteen minutes later, Linde heard the sounds he’d been waiting on hearing all night--Tom and someone else were making their way to their bus, pumped up and sweaty from the show they’d just finished.

 

“Gott, ich bin müde…” the word were spoken in German, by a voice that was unmistakably Bill’s, but Linde couldn’t understand the boy’s spoken words anymore than he could understand his lyrics. Linde held his breath and took a step back against the side of the bus when the two turned the corner and came into his view.

 

“Ah, ich auch, aber das war fantastisch!” Tom replied, a wide grin on his face, and Linde narrowed his eyes at the sight of him.

 

Bill laughed, and Linde watched as his arm wrapped around his brother’s waist, pulling him closer only to stop short when he realized they weren’t alone.

 

“Tomi…” The name was barely even a whisper as it left Bill‘s lips, but Linde caught it. It was the first word either of them had said all night that he’d actually understood, a name that had tormented Linde’s mind since that first drunken night when Ville had so tactlessly drawn Linde’s attention to the video for 1000 Meere.

 

 There was an awkward moment, when Tom stepped in front of his brother as if to protect him, and brown eyes met blue. Linde swallowed, glanced down at the concrete floor, and then took a step forward out of the shadows he’d been hiding in.

 

“Tom Kaulitz?” The name sounded stiff when Linde said it, so much stiffer than it had sounded within his head.

 

“Ja…”--Tom’s eyes narrowed, then softened ever so slightly, as if he had assessed the stranger and did not find him a threat. -- “Yes? What do you want?”

 

Linde knew it was now or never. He approached Tom, his hand reaching out, hesitating only over whether or not he should actually touch Tom’s hair or not. In the end he decided against it, opting instead for grabbing him by his upper arm and pushing him flat against the side of the bus. Linde could clearly hear Bill gasping, but Tom was silent, his mouth open and eyes wide as if in shock.

 

“Teet sen väärin,” Linde said, his voice low and hands gripping Tom’s shoulder, his waist, before pushing his mouth against his. It wasn’t an actual kiss as much as hard pressure. Neither of them willing to open their mouth to the other.

 

“What?” Tom exclaimed, pushing the palms of his hands flat against Linde’s chest, but not quite pushing him away. Linde was both taller and stronger than him and they both knew it would be useless for him to actually try to fight his way out of the situation.

 

“You’re doing it wrong…”

 

“Doing what wro…” Tom’s words were cut off as Linde finally grabbed onto a handful of Tom’s dreads, tugging his head back, knocking his hat to the floor in the process. Bill was screaming in German, more words Linde couldn’t understand, and he was vaguely aware of the younger of the twins turning on his heal and leaving.

 

“You’re doing it wrong!”

 

Linde’s grip on Tom tightened as he slammed him back against the aluminum wall of the bus yet again. The sound echoed through the empty garage, and Linde pulled at his clothes, spinning him around before he could protest anymore and pressing against his back. He wasted no time with flattery, and as he worked at removing the necessary clothes from both Tom and himself, Linde tried his best to explain in what little English he knew why he was doing this, why he had to do this. Tom didn’t struggle nearly as much as Linde had expected him to, and when it finally reached the point in which Linde had spit into the palm of his hand, used his own saliva to slick up his own cock, Tom wasn’t protesting what they were doing as much as he was protesting having to be the receiving end of it. It was obvious that under any other circumstances, Tom would have been fighting Linde full out for the right to lead, that the only way Linde was getting his way so easily this time was because he’d caught the younger man completely off guard.

 

Thigh length dreads were tossed over his shoulder as Linde spread the globes of Tom’s ass and pushed inside of him. His hand pressed hard against Tom’s mouth and teeth piercing skin as what would have been screams were muffled into mere hisses. Both of them had completely abandoned their mutual language, curses and blessings alike leaving their lips in a mixed combination of Finnish and German.

 

It was over way too fast, and Linde was surprised when Tom came before him, his name--his real name--actually leaving his lips as he tightened around Linde’s cock and pushed back against him. A threw more thrusts later and Linde was right there with him, his warm come filling Tom from the inside.

 

“You… you know my name?” Linde panted, his eyes still closed and heart racing. He swallowed, took in a deep breath before pulling out. “I didn’t think… I mean, I…”

 

Tom chuckled, pulled his jeans back up from where they’d previously been pooled at his ankles. His cheeks were flushed, dreads hanging lose around his face as he turned to face Linde. And had he not been smiling--the two of them still warm and weak-kneed, too caught up in their post orgasmic bliss to think otherwise--the situation might have been just as awkward as the first time they’d first come face to face in the dim lighting of the parking garage.

 

“Of course,” Tom said, stepping forward so Linde had no choice but to take a step backwards, their positions now completely reversed from what they had been not even five minutes ago. “I’ve only been trying to get your attention since 2001.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written 02/01/2010.


End file.
